


Sex for Homework

by Stories_from_Unicron



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: 'musk drunk', Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal, Body Worship, Cum Inflation, Dubious Consent, Forced Marriage, Forced Orgasm, Gunmar is gross, Horrible porn dialogue cheesier than Gunmar's taint moss, M/M, Multi, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Rough Oral Sex, Size Difference, Sounding, Strickmar - Freeform, Very mild mind control, pheremones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-03-09 05:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18910396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stories_from_Unicron/pseuds/Stories_from_Unicron
Summary: “…There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad.”― Homer, The IliadStricklander tries to educate Gunmar in the differences between Human Sexuality and Troll Mating, but Gunmar seems more interested in proving his way is better. Someone is bound to learn their lesson before class is out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Want to know how Walt got into this mess? Check out Towers of Illium for the Au basis

"Gunmar-" Strickler gasped, rolling over onto the furs as his cloak was ripped from his shoulders.

The cape crumpled to the ground.

"If you would just give me a moment-"

His feather cowl pulled over his head like a lei.

"WILL YOU WAIT!"

 Strickler turned, planting a clawed foot between the Skullcrusher's mismatched eyes. His leg muscles flexed as he strained to hold the Troll's advances at bay. Gunmar's eye flared dangerously. With a growl, he climbed onto the bed.

  
"I've been waiting nine months for my due." His claws locked around the changeling's ankle in a crushing grip. "Or have you forgotten our deal? From Harvest to Snowthaw, you are mine. and in exchange, I spare your village and the Trollhunter's life. I've been given precious little in exchange for my mercy."

Gunmar's eye narrowed. "So think very carefully before you demand more."

Strickler withered under Gunmar's gaze. Deep breaths, remain calm, he couldn't let the Troll see him falter.

"I only meant that I could undress myself." He demurred, turning his face away. "You might even enjoy it."

The Underlord glowered at him, "Why would I enjoy watching you _disrobe_?"

"It's a human concept. Drawing out the time before mating, building up the tension. They call it 'seduction'. "

"Sad-uc-shun?" Gunmar repeated, sounding the word out with suspicion.

"Indeed," Strickler forced a playful smile, "It can make the act itself much more-" He grimaced, "gratifying."

He met Gunmar's gaze and let his legs open, just a bit.

"What do you say, Gunmar? Care to give it a try?"

 

Strickler told himself he could get through this. If not with his dignity fully intact, then with his pride, at least. The Gumm-Gumm King was a brute, even more so than his barbarian son. Gunmar couldn't be overpowered. But perhaps he could be...outmaneuvered

 

A soft, gutteral sound bubbled up from Gunmar's chest. He eyed Strickler distrustfully.

"Very well, Impure. Teach me this 'seduction'."

The changeling nodded, shifting to a more comfortable position.

Strickler thought about their last few couplings, about the lack-luster bobbing of Gunmar's hips, and the Troll's dull grunts and panting as he mounted him.

"Honestly, there's a lot I can teach you."

" _What was that_?"

"I said, 'I long to teach you', Dark Underlord."

In a fluid motion, The changeling lifted one of his legs into the air, not unlike a ballerina performing an Arabesque. Maintaining eye contact, he began to unravel his loincloth, peeling the strips of fabric away from his body.

First he exposed his hips, the bones jutting out a bit more than he would've liked.

Then, the deep set V of his pelvic muscle began to peek over the rim of the cloth.

It was there that Stricklander wavered. Gunmar was watching closely, but not with lust. Instead, the troll was grinning; a patronizing smile as crooked as his teeth.

  
Strickler dug his claws into the cloth, biting back an indignant snarl. He was about to turn over and tell the Gumm-Gumm king to get it over with. Better than being laughed at.  
But then Gunmar spoke.

"I didn't tell you to stop, Stricklander."

There was something of a challenge in his tone, and Strickler lifted his head, their eyes locking like horns.

Challenge accepted.

Strickler smirked, bringing his leg down, calves pressed together. He pulled the last of the loincloth away, tucking his ankles in close to block his groin from line of sight. As coy as a fig leaf on a marble statue.

He extended his arm, the swarth of fabric held between two fingers. He wanted to be sure that Gunmar was _well aware_ he wore nothing else.

The warlord watched it flutter to the ground before quickly returning his gaze to the willowy changeling in front of him. Without a word, Gunmar leaned forward, setting his claws on Stricker's knees to pry them apart.

"Anxious?" Strickler quirked a brow as the Gumm-Gumm King leaned in closer.

"Nine Months, Stricklander." Came the snarled response.

The changeling smiled, flashing his uneven hyena teeth. "Well then, let's not keep you waiting."

Gunmar pushed his legs open, but before he could get a glimpse of his prize, he was blinded by a flash of green chaos magic.

Instinctively, he recoiled, fingers flexed to summon his blade.

Stricker smirked at him over the edge of his wing, posed like a high-school boy's poster of a succubus. The tip of one of his wings rested just in front of his groin, blocking the main event from view. The other wing was outstretched, drawing attention to his shoulder line.

Gunmar exhaled, a roiling growl leaving his chest.

"Get those out of my way, or I'll pull them off."

Strickler grinned, his wings vanishing in a cloud of green smoke. He was about to respond to the threat when an oozing, heavy weight brushed against his shin.

"Oh. You _are_ eager, Dark Underlord."

Gunmar's member was an ugly thing, lumpy, twisted, and as long as Strickler's arm. It looked more like a Stalagmite than a male organ, in shape, texture, and thickness.

But the stench.

The smell was very much male.

 Strickler balked, scooting back on his hands and feet like a crab.

"Ah, Gunmar?"

The troll dropped onto all fours, creeping after him.

"Gunmar---"

Claws closed on one of his horns.

"With all do respect, your dark excellence, When is the last time you had a bath?"

The Warlord paused, considering.

"How long have I been imprisoned?" He murmured, more to himself than anything else.

Gunmar chuckled at Strickler's horrified expression.

"My rut's been tucked away, Impure. it's probably cleaner than the rest of me. Or at least it soon will be."

Strickler grunted in pain as he was dragged forward, the thick length slapping against his cheek.

"Are you afraid of getting musk-drunk?" Gunmar asked, pushing his rut forward.

"You're disgusting!" Strickler hissed, struggling to pull away. "I'm not going to suck it!"

The smell seemed to be getting stronger, a copper-like, mineral tang mixed with a heavy, animal musk.

Truth be told, it smelled better than the rest of Gunmar, whose usual perfume seemed to be Eau De Slaughterhouse.

In comparison, the verdigris scent was _almost_ charming.

So much like copper....Or was it lead? Strickler wasn't entirely sure, so he pressed himself closer to double check.

 

"I'm just going to rub it." He groused, wrapping his claws around the tip. "So let go of my horns. This filthy thing isn't going anywhere near my mouth, unless you intend to force me."

Gunmar shifted his grip, from Strickler's horn to his hair, claws tangling in ash-colored locks, pulling until he lifted the changeling's face, their noses nearly touching.

"You think I'm a monster."

Strickler hissed between clenched teeth at the burning pressure on his scalp, but he didn't look away as the Gumm-Gumm King continued,

"If a Troll has to force a mating, then he is no Troll at all." The crushing grip relented, and Strickler dropped to all fours, lifting a hand to rub his aching head.

"Oh, so kidnapping, conscription, genocide, child soldiers, and forced marriages are all well and good, but you draw the line at rape?" He retorted, "As if you are any better than the next savage brute."

Gunmar rumbled, his claws scraping over Strickler's shoulders before coming to rest on his neck.

Strickler felt his stomach sink, but he forced himself to keep a hard expression.

"So, what?" He hated the stammer in his voice as Gunmar leaned in closer. "You expect me to cower? Do you think you could possibly do anything worse to me than this humiliation?"

The Warlord said nothing. Instead, he brought his horns down, knocking his forehead against the changelings. Strickler jolted, taken aback not just by the Trollish token of affection, but at the reminder of just how small he was compared to his 'king'.

"Finish rubbing." Gunmar gave him a pat on the cheek.

 

Strickler let out a puff of air, blowing his hair away from his face. Then, stooping down, he returned his attention to the task at hand.

"Remind me to have the Janus Order send soap through the fetch." He said, wrapping his fingers around Gunmar's member. _"Ulk."_

He couldn't help the sound of disgust he made at the syrupy precum oozing from the tip.

At first glance, the organ looked like it was made of dry stone, but the entire thing was coated in a clear slime-like substance. It made it easier for him to slide his knuckles down the length. About a third of the way, it became too big for him to fit one hand around. Toward the base, he needed to use both to squeeze it.  
For a while, Gunmar gave no indication that he could feel a thing. But as the strokes became more confident, he started to purr.

Soft groans came in time with Strickler's hand motions. Glide up, bring his palms together to squeeze the tip, and then back down, until his claws were forced apart by the girth, and up again. Each time they rose and fell, Gunmar gave a soft, throaty growl of approval.

There was something exhilarating about having the power to wrench such sounds from a Troll, to make him sigh and melt in his grasp.

Strickler wondered what other sounds he could force out of Gunmar.

"Why don't you lean back, your dark excellence? I could better serve you if I have the high ground."

The Gumm-Gumm grunted in reply, shifting until he was on his back with the changeling kneeling between his tree-trunk thick legs.

Strickler's fingers closed around the head of gunmar's rut, and he squeezed it hard enough to force the tip shut before running the claws of his right hand along the underside.

 

"Stricklander..." Gunmar's eye closed, lips peeling back from his teeth as he dug his claws into the bedding.

 

"You know, when you say my name like that, I almost believe you really missed me." Strickler began to move his fist up and down more quickly. "Or at least part of you did.

 

The changeling pressed forward, grinding the length between his chest and Gunmar's abdomen. Emboldened, He cupped his palm to the Warlord's underside.

"My lord, Your gronk-nuks are throbbing. The poor things are so swollen I can feel them moving under your pelt."

  
Strickler knew his next action might be his last, but he couldn't resist the urge to see just how far Gunmar could be pushed.

The warlord's rut had grown harder. It arched upward like a sapling, a heavy stream of Cawper's fluid flowing out of a nickle-sized opening near the tip.  
Strickler slid the pad of his index finger along that stream, gathering the precum like frosting.

"You really are a brute. _Look at the state of you_ , your cock is dripping wet."

" **Yours**." Gunmar murmured.

Strickler glanced toward his face, certain he hadn't heard that correctly.

"My Lord?"

"It's yours, Stricklander. You are my mate, that means my 'cock' is yours."

Strickler scoffed at that.

"You doubt me." Gunmar propped himself onto his elbows. "You Impure mate as the fleshbags do, spreading your legs like cats in heat. Without loyalty, without _purpose_."

"That-That isn't---" Strickler tried to protest, but the words died as Gunmar grabbed his chin, forcefully lowering the changelings gaze.

"Look at it, Stricklander. Do you think I would waste my time on anything less than a Queen? This goes in you, Impure. In your mouth, your crux, your guts. As long as I allow you to live, then you are my mate, my consort. For nine cold months, I do not rut. Not until you step through that bridge. Can you say the same of your bahr-bu-rah?"

Gunmar pushed him away, returning to his reclining position.

Strickler's shock faded, an angry flush coloring his cheeks.

"What Barbara and I do is none of your business!" He spat, "What we share is nothing like this-this mockery of--" He stopped, his words ending in a hiss of frustration.

Strickler turned, grabbing Gunmar's length once more.

"So, This ugly thing is mine? Right?" He snarled, tugging on it. "And If I want to, I can drain it dry?" He accentuated the last three words with a hard clench of his claws.

Gunmar tossed his horns back with a chuckle.

"Do you think your teeth are sharp enough to scare me? You may impress the woman, but I am a bull Troll. Even at my age, I can outrut you."

"Oh, Is that what you're doing when you blow your load and fall asleep? Outrutting me?"

Gunmar considered the insult, blue flame dancing around his eye. Strickler could sense somehow that he'd made a grave mistake, but he'd gone too far to go back on his words. His pride wouldn't allow it.

"Your will against mine, then." The Warlord let out a sigh, "Impress me, Stricklander. You won't get a second chance."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick math lesson. If Gunmar = 11ft, Strickler =7ft, and X= 3ft, then how many times does X go into Strickler?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to Luna for using screen shots and examples from nature to help me determine how long a Troll dick might be at its biggest.

Gunmar was well aware of Stricklander's reputation. The Impure didn't have the size to command respect or the strength to force obedience. Instead, he drew loyalty by inspiring others of his kind. Stricklander made intricate plans and gave grand speeches. He spoke reassurances, brought order and gave hope to the impures. The changeling controlled chaos with conviction, and that was where his power lay.

Not in claws, not in magic or blades. Instead of a sword, he wielded his silver tounge with cunning precison. Perhaps now more than ever.

The pink tip painted a pretty contrast as it darted over Gunmar's slit. The changeling seemed devoted to servicing the heavy member. His slender talons interlocked below the glans, and it took both of his hands to steady the organ while he doted on the tip.

Strickler kept bringing his mouth to the head, his lips making soft sounds against Gunmar's stone. Every so often Gunmar would catch a glimpse of flesh-colored tongue as it dipped forward to graze the under-shaft, or paint a spiral around the cusp.

"The taste is to your liking, I see." The warlord's tone was almost playful.

At first, the changeling just kept passing his tongue along the tip. It took a while for him to realize he was being spoken to. He blinked, giving his head a shake to clear it.

"Wha-? That is---" Strickler balked, his voice cracking a bit. He glanced up at Gunmar then back at the spit-covered rut in his hand, as if seeing it for the first time.

"You didn't hear me, did you?" The Skullcrusher murmured to himself. "Then the rumors are true."

"What rumors?" Strickler demanded, drawing back. He crossed his arms over his chest, as if suddenly aware that Gunmar was leering at him.

The question was ignored.

"Are you giving up?" Gunmar turned his horned head to one side, the muscles in his neck cracking like ice.

"No!" Strickler snarled, a sharpness returning to his eyes. "I haven't finished my turn yet." He paused to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand. "and I still know a few tricks."

Gunmar settled back on the bed, drumming his claws against his chest.

"Is licking all you're going to do with it?" He didn't sound impressed. "After all that talk? You said you would teach me, Stricklander. Show me a mating game I haven't seen."

Strickler glanced down at Gunmar's rut, his focus on the drooling hole at its tip.

"Have you ever had anything in here?" he brushed his thumb over the ruthole, moving it in soft circles.

The warlord's brow furrowed. " _In_?" He repeated, the word a rumble.

"It's an incredibly intense sensation," Strickler debated how to explain, "it can increase sensitivity, and lead to--"

Gunmar growled, cutting off his words.

  
"I told you to _show_ me, Stricklander."

The changeling swallowed his misgivings. Inclining his head, He gave the hole one more lick, then pressed the tip of both thumb talons into it. Briefly, he glanced up, gauging Gunmar's reaction.

When the troll gave no protest, he began to peel open the gap with practiced delicacy.

"Don't worry, I know how to do this. It won't hurt."

"Then you aren't doing it right, **Impure**."

Strickler's hackles rose at the slur, any care he thought to take was smothered under a tide of venom. Pressing his lips together tightly, he glared up at his 'mate' as he gathered a mouthful of spit.

  
Cattish yellow eyes met Gunmar's flaring orb, and without breaking his gaze, Strickler allowed a gob of drool to spatter onto the warlord's gap. He used the pad of his finger to rub the lubrication in for a moment. Then, without further hesitation, he forced his claw into Gunmar's member.

  
The Troll King let out a hiss as his urethra opened to accommodate the digit, and Strickler relished the reaction.

"Oh, now that is a good sound!" Strickler snarled. The inside of Gunmar's cock was broiling, the slick muscles clamping down on his talon as he rammed it in to the knuckle. "Let's hear it again!"

  
Gunmar obliged with groan, his teeth clacking as he clenched them together.

Strickler felt himself growing slick at the sight and sound of his King, at how the Troll's eye rolled back, his rune-carved chest flexing, every stone muscle well defined as he struggled for breath. He twisted his finger, pulling it out until only the nail was in before he plunged it back in. Precum bubbled around his knuckle in a steaming stream.

"How does that feel, Dark Underlord? Do you enjoy having your prick fingered by an impure?"

Strickler began rocking himself, rubbing his mound against the base of Gunmar's length. His slit was drenched and the slickness made it easy for his hips to glide in time with his finger movements.

A keen, prickling pleasure stabbed into his belly, so unexpected that he gasped aloud. His clit had found a perfectly shaped ridge on Gunmar's rut, a lumpy cleft that forced the heavy hood back and stroked against the undersides like playful fingers. Strickler hooked his legs around Gunmar's cock, ankles crossing. He cursed between clenched teeth, grinding his hips into the friction.

He hadn't planned on enjoying this, but the pull of his need was too great to ignore

"At long last. You managed to make me _feel_ something." Gunmar growled, wrapping his claws in Stricklers' hair. He lifted the changeling's face.

"Look at me, Stricklander. I want to watch you finish."

The changeling bared his teeth, his voice filled with gravel.

  
"Take a good look, then!"

Strickler intended on throw himself backward with a flourish, to sweep his arm out and arch his back like a dancer, but his plan for theatrics flew out the window as he reached his peak. Instead of spreading out, he curved inward, hugging onto Gunmar's rut for purchase. The orgasm pierced through his belly like dry lightning, leaving his toes curled and his clit throbbing.

The room spun, and he might've fallen, if Gunmar didn't reach forward, pulling him into a bear-hug.

A choked yowl escaped Strickler, startled and panther-like as Gunmar began to move. The troll's haunches bucked up and down in motions as rugged as his breathing. Strickler gripped the Warlord's forearms, digging his claws into the aegean blue hide as Gunmar rubbed himself between his folds.

"That's more like it." Strickler rasped, letting Gunmar lift him. "Keep pressing on it, yes! _There_!"

Gunmar laughed quietly, adjusting his grasp. Strickler let himself be maneuvered, spreading his legs so that the troll could thrust more smoothly. The cleft met his clit once more, and Gunmar seemed to focus his efforts on bringing them together.

  
Strickler felt his second climax rising more slowly. He was given a chance to brace himself, and he took the opportunity to lean into Gunmar's chest. The Gumm-Gumm King's heartbeat thundered against his cheek, and the sound brought with it a wicked knowing.

  
_He_ had done this, he had brought the great and terrible Gunmar to this level of excitement. He made the Skullcrusher buck his hips like a dog in heat.

 _His_ dog.

His ugly, brutal _beast._

The pleasure rose to a fiery peak, boiling over and spreading out like a shockwave. Every muscle in his legs went tense, heels bending, toes straight. The changeling bit down against Gunmar's chest to muffle his pleasured shriek.

  
Strickler's breath steamed as he let out a shuddering gasp, left leg quivering wildly.

Stone talons scraped over his forehead, brushing hair away from his brow. Gunmar's sour tongue suddenly enveloped his face, the scrape of his barbs sending goosebumps rippling along Strickler's arms.

"NO." The changeling gagged, lifting a hand to pinch his nose shut. "Oh, sweet Bodus! None of that!"

"I'll have more than a taste of you before I tire." Gunmar scoffed, looking very pleased with himself.

"Are you going to sit there gloating, or are you going to put it in?" Strickler wiped his face on the back of his arm. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but your dick smells better than your breath."

Gunmar seemed to take the words as a compliment. His talons glowed as he stroked himself a bit before pressing the cusp to his mate's entrance.

"Gunmar, Wait." Strickler shifted, "Don't set me down all the way."

"I've waited long enough."

"Trust me, you'll like this position. I doubt you've seen it before."

Gunmar snorted. "Another lesson, Stricklander?"

"Consider it extra credit." The changeling wriggled a bit, wincing as he stretched his legs to straddle Gunmar's hips. His pelvis came to rest just beneath the troll's member, and with their considerable height difference, it was easy for him to bend backward, placing his palms against the bedfurs.

Spine arched, his body on display as taut as a bowstring.

Gunmar rumbled his approval. Reaching out, he slid a flint-like claw between Strickler's slight abdominals, as if he were dreaming of gutting him.

"Bent like a bridge." The troll stated.

"In my line of work, you learn to be _flexible."_ Strickler retorted, giving his hips a roll for emphasis.

Gunmar needed no more encouraging. Without another word, he lifted his organ and entered. Two orgasms had helped him open but a pained grunt still escaped Strickler's lips as the first portion of troll cock began to slip in.

  
Four inches, then five.

"Slowly, Gunmar!" He snarled, wincing, "Go slowly! It's damn thick!"

The warlord's claws made a perch for his lower back, and he tried to relax, taking a mental count.

Six inches. Seven, eight.

"Just-Just remember what I told you about human anatomy!" Strickler protested, "A third of it! That's all you can fit!" He could see the impression of the ungodly thing inside his belly. The head forming a bump beneath the surface of his skin.

Ten, eleven and twelve, and on the bump advanced; past his navel now.

Gunmar's rut found the entrance to his womb, the tapered head fitting neatly against the dimple at its center. The two organs nestled together and slowly, one began to force the other back.

Strickler lifted a hand to his stomach, placing it over the bulge. His breathing came out in short, quick huffs, worry etched across his brow. He could feel the strain of his cervix being pressed deeper into his body, the unnatural movement sent a sharp bolt of hurt through him.

"Stop. Wait!" He let out a gasp, "That's..." He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a quick tally. "That's fifteen inches. That shouldn't be _possible_."

Gunmar scowled, pulling his hips back. The connection was too tight. instead of sliding out, his mate was yanked forward, a yelp escaping him as he was pulled off-balance.

  
"It's stuck. I TOLD you not to---" Strickler's words died as Gunmar reached down and began moving him bodily.

Shoulders pressed down, weight focused on his upper back. Hips propped up, legs in the air.

An ink-black fist around each ankle, prying them apart like goalposts.

With dawning dread, Strickler realized Gunmar's intentions

"You **can't!** " He tried to sit up, but the warlord held him in place with his weight. In desperation, the changeling clawed at where they were connected, wrapping his hands around the rut to try to tug it out. "Gunmar, It's three feet long!"

"There's enough of troll in you to take it, Stricklander."

  
"There is absolutely NOT enough troll in me to take that much--that much troll in me!"

"Stop whining. I've had enough of your teasing. This time, you WILL take my fill, Impure."

The changeling tried to resist. he bellowed, he dug his claws into the organ, he threw himself backward, trying to wrench himself away, but the difference in strength between them was too great. He and Gunmar weren't the same species, anymore than a wolf is the same thing as a coyote. The simple truth of the matter was that a troll was predator, and a changeling took the place of prey.

  
And with a predators confidence Gunmar pulled Strickler back into position. With the slightest push of his hips, the Gumm-Gumm King continued to cram every inch of his rut into his prey.

  
Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.

The changeling howled as something inside him began to crack, he could feel his pelvic bones being pried apart, hairline fractures threatening to form. A fierce burn warned that his slit was beginning to split.

The howls of protest quickly became sobs.

"Please-It's burning, you're hurting me, Gunmar, _Please_! You said you wouldn't force me, you promised! My mouth! You can use my mouth, I'll swallow everything just please _pull it out of me!_ "

  
Strickler thought the pain and humiliation couldn't get worse, Then he realized he was crying. Gritting his teeth against the tears, he pressed his palms to his eyes, hating how pitiful his voice sounded, how helpless. For a few moments, Gunmar was silent. Then he put a claw to the changelings belly and pinned him into place.

"Not yet, then." Gunmar said to himself, "A bit more and you'll be ready."

A wet, sucking sound came from where they were connected. The changeling's insides were as stubborn as the rest of him, they didn't want to let go of Gunmar's rut as he began to pull out.

"Slowly---go slowly." Strickler hissed. His stomach muscles clenched as he bore down on the organ to try and push it free. Finally, with more than a little effort, the head popped out, leaving his crux wide open to the chilled air.

Strickler covered the gape with his fingers, turning onto his side and tucking his knees to his chest.

"Ow, ow, ow." The whimpers soon turned to indignant growls, the tears drying on his cheeks. He had to pretend that the moment of weakness hadn't happened, that he hadn't been pleading for mercy. it wasn't safe to be scared. He had to be angry. Outraged, above what had occurred,

"I've told you before; how many times, how many times, you _stupid brute_? It won't fit! I'm not a troll!"

  
Gunmar gave him no time to recover. He grabbed the changeling by the neck, pulling him back into a sitting position.

"It will fit, Stricklander, with the right sort of drink to loosen your lips."

Strickler felt cruel hands wrap around his horns, positioning his head above the rut.

"Gunmar," He let out a long-suffering sigh. There was no point in resisting, he could only brace for what would come next. "There's not enough _Pinot Noir_ in the seven realms."

A thumb pressed at the corner of his mouth, prying his tusks apart. Obediently, he stuck out his tongue, relaxing his jaw as much as he could.

"I've got something for you that's much stronger than wine, Stricklander. You'll want more of it before we're finished."

His head was shoved down, the organ scraping over his lips, past his tongue, down until it knocked against his throat and deeper still until his forehead was pressed hard against Gunmar's crotch.

Strickler retched, eyes watering as his esophagus was gouged open. He clawed at the Gumm-gumm's thighs, choking, trying to push himself back up. His airway was completely stretched and filled without room to breathe. No air, only the mineral stench of Troll.

The stinging, bestial smell burned his nose like smoke, flowing over his tongue and burrowing into his sinuses. The acrid scent seemed to settle back behind his eyes, and bring with it a strange, muggy sort of calm.

Gunmar lifted the changeling's head, giving him a chance gulp a lungful of air before pressing him back down.

The single breath wasn't enough. Stars danced in Strickler's vision, his head swimming as Gunmar used his gullet like a toy.

Strickler was suffocating and the slurping, glottal sounds coming from his gag reflex only seemed to excite the warlord more. Gunmar snarled, the vicious rhythm of his hips pushed his rut through the entire length of the changelings throat, deeper than humanly possible.

Strickler could feel the head of it dipping into his stomach, stirring his insides like a pestle. He couldn't do anything except wait for it to end.

Although he couldn't get air, he still seemed able to take in lungfuls of that smell. It's calming musk quieted his panic and in a strange way, it gave him a chance to think

Outmaneuver.

Not overpower, never hope to overpower, but outmaneuver. _Control the chaos._

There were other ways to finish the fight.

First, he began to move in time with Gunmar's claws; lifting his head when it was dragged up, and relaxing his jaw, pressing down when forced back. He raked at the top of the organ with his teeth and lapped at the underside, undulating his tongue along the places he knew were most sensitive. Gunmar seemed well aware that he was being helped along.

  
"That's it, Stricklander, use that forked tongue of yours." He breathed, "Oh, you are _clever_."

The crushing grip on his horns relaxed, and the changeling moved of his own accord. By now his throat had begun to loosen up, and the violation came more easily. Nearly finished, he could tell by the way the muscles in Gunmar's abdominals were twitching. It would be like it always was, Gunmar was an old troll, he would spurt once and be done.

It would all be over.

"Look at your Warlord!" Gunmar rasped, "I want you to watch this. I want to see your eyes when it happens."

Strickler felt the base of Gunmar's rut begin to throb, he could feel every beat as the pulsing of his muscle traveled the length of his throat.

Gunmar gave a satisfied grunt, drawing his hips back and pushing them forward again, stroke after lazy stroke as he emptied himself.

The spend was as gritty as gravesand and so hot that it felt as if a pot of coffee were being poured directly into his guts. Strickler's eyes went wide, throat bobbing as he struggled to gulp it down as fast as it came.

  
Gunmar began to pull out, if only to make room for the last few spurts. Strickler could feel his stomach overflowing, and the cum began to rise back up.

Gunmar's rough palm pressed against his tusks, forcing his mouth shut.

"Keep it down, Impure." Came the warning growl.

His throat convulsed, shoulders shaking as he dry heaved. A few bubbles of spend stung his nostrils. Sulfur-colored eyes rolled back as his belly strained.

The taste was forced into his mouth and nose. A protein richness, copper tang and a prickling burn, almost like liquor.

The burn overpowered the other flavors, spreading across his tongue and into his nasal cavity. _Sweet_ , hot and **sweet**. Oak and woodsmoke. Not liquor, bourbon.

The decadent sting of bourbon.

The pleasant flavor made the texture easier to handle. Strickler swallowed once, grimaced, then tried again. The ache in his belly was giving way to a smooth warmth, a liquid heat that radiated through his limbs, coaxing his muscles to relax.

  
Gunmar brushed the tip of his rut along the changelings chin and upper lip, painting his mouth with the last strands of his spend.

The tip of Strickler's silver tongue poked out from between his lips, chasing those smears.

"Gunmar, I don't---"

Gunmar was grinning at him, and vaguely he knew that meant something bad, but it was hard to think, so hard to think on a full stomach.

  
He placed his hands over his middle. His gut was protruding ever so slightly, like it sometimes did after Thanksgiving. Heat seemed to radiate from the swell and he was so full of the sloshing heat that he began to pant to try and cool himself.

  
The furs were soft, and he settled back against them. A deep ache had started between his legs, and he let them fall apart, fingers rubbing there absently.

Gunmar loomed over him, smiling as he brought his horns down. Strickler leaned into the bunt, and as Gunmar's tongue stroked over his cheek, he stuck out his own tongue to twine with it.

The slimy kiss went on for a few seconds before Strickler spoke.

"You--" He stopped, tried again. "You've done something to me. You tricked me."

His voice was weak, a strange keen to it, almost like a whine. The ache grew sharper, and he tried to reach it, sliding three fingers into himself. His stomach gurgled. Too bloated to think. Too warm.

  
"Gunmar-Gunmar, _please."_

His fingers moved faster.

"I can't---"

The warlord brough his head down, his crooked teeth raking against the changelings inner thigh.

"You don't have to. My turn now, Stricklander."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Dysphoria in this chapter, if that's going to be hard for you, then skip the first half.  
> Dad are gonna crack dad jokes. I cannot change this.

Strickler did not like his troll voice. He hated how a stone larnyx took his practiced, dulcet words and turned them into something monsterous. He hated how the grating of his teeth ruined his accent. And worst of all, even with the rasp and grit, even at his most fierce,

  
He could still _whimper_.

Gunmar had been so attentive, so infuriatingly _tender_. His short, blunt claws fit perfectly into Strickler's aching slit. The Warlord had taken his time, drawing out the luxury of his touch. His stone palm rocked forward and back, fingers plunging deep to tickle the roof of his crux before slipping out to laze along his outer lips, then back in and up, scratching his itch, lavishing him with attention. The facet edge of a claw ghosted over the changeling's clit. First teasing the nerves at its front before rising to prod beneath the hood. His talon circled the round gem in gradually decreasing spirals; tracing the surface again and again until it was plump and pulsing like a heartbeat.

It was there that he left him, teetering on the brink, hips thrusting on nothing.

 _"Why did you stop?"_

Gunmar's only answer was a smile. He drew back, arms folded across his chest as he gazed down at his Queen.

The changeling was still open from their union. His inner lips hung heavy; lush and swollen, parted like insect wings to reveal the phlox-colored folds inside. Strickler's soft muscles rippled and clenched in protest of his emptiness. Deeper still, a strange shadowy something fluttered, something Trolls lacked, something that Gunmar was determined to try and get under his tongue.

He was drawn from his musings by a shrill snarl.

"Stop leering like that. _I hate it._ "

Strickler's eyes gleamed, his tusks bared in a wordless threat. It was abundantly clear that he wasn't flattered by Gunmar's admiration.

  
Those stroking claws had brought Strickler some relief, but without them, the needling want rose again, fiercer for being denied.  He wanted to _mate_ , he wanted to _rut_ and _bust_ and be filled until his legs wouldn't work properly.

  
He wanted another drink.

But Gunmar wasn't mounting him. The Gumm-Gumm King was just standing there and staring at him, with his misaligned smirk and his wolfish eye. Smug and evil-smelling and male, so tremendously, insufferably _male._

The changeling cursed, reaching down to finish himself.

His wiry fingers formed an M, one digit between his labia, one on other side to tug and tease. His entrance was still sore, so he stroked his middle finger over it gently, focusing his attention on the lips.  Strickler imagined that the hands were smaller and softer. If he shut his eyes, he could almost feel the stroke of a latex glove. A sweet, lowered voice.

_It's okay. I like it when you go a little wild. Good boy, just like that._

There was a brief flicker of guilt, but he pushed it down. She'd be horrified if she knew. if he was lucky, her disgust would be toward his Trollish nature, rather than...

Well, She would never know about that.

And what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

His thumb pressed to the side of his clit.

_I want you to cum on my fingers, Walt. I want to stick my tongue in your cunt. I want you, I want all of you._

Rising, rising and electric, closing in like a wildfire and the heat was forcing him up and up-

His shoulders hitched, breath steaming as he moaned softly.

So sharp like pinpricks like needles but nice, so nice to feel it build

so close

_"Barbara."_

He scraped his clit and forced two fingers into his aching crux. The sudden intrusion stung, and the pain was just enough to send him over the brink. A gush of fluid spurted past his hand and he roared, lifting his hips off the bed.

His thighs knocked against a heavy set of horns, and he went numb with dread.

At some point, Gunmar had crouched down to watch him. Strickler had been so caught up in relieving himself that he hadn't noticed Gunmar coming in closer to study his movements and from Gunmar's perspective he had just gone ahead and ejaculated all over the his face while _whispering someone else's name._

  
Strickler scrambled back, stammering, trying to think of an excuse. 

The Warlord's claws closed over his hand. Gunmar shifted his grip, and a moment later, both of Strickler's wrists were crossed, clutched tightly in one glowing fist.

  
Flight turned to fight, and Strickler hissed like a reptile. He snapped his jaws and tried to jerk himself free, but every twist and kick made his stomach churn; reminding him that he wasn't as light as he was used to being.

The Gumm-Gumm King didn't seem to mind the extra weight. Without the faintest hint of effort, he lifted Strickler into the air, dangling him overhead.

Gunmar's maw yawned opened, and Strickler found himself staring down into the warlord's jaws.

A broken mountain range of rust-colored teeth, stained by an endless appetite for carnage. An undulating gullet, as wide around and wet as a drainpipe. A blue-gray tongue covered in greedy barbs, designed to scrape flesh off bone until they were polished white.

  
And he was being lowered toward it.

Through the haze of heat, Strickler came to the chilling realization that he was going to be eaten. Gunmar had finished playing with him, and now he was going to do what he and Bular always threatened to. He thought he should be more aghast, more shocked by the betrayal, but really, what else could be expected from someone like Gunmar the Black, alias The Hungry One, alias He Who Sups of Blood?

  
It was so obvious, now. Gunmar _never_ planned on giving Changelings a place in his world, no matter what Strickler agreed to do. This was always his fate.

From the way the Warlord's gorge relaxed, it was clear he had no intention of chewing his meal.

The fight left him. Strickler's mind had gone far away, to a place of calm acceptance. Shock, surely. A survival tactic.

 _Survival._

How long would he last before his ribs snapped? Would they be crushed by Gunmar's throat, or would he live long enough to suffocate in a tomb of living stone?

The thought of being swallowed made Strickler's breath hitch.

To his deepest shame, the thought made him _wet._

"You're trembling, Impure" Gunmar's breath steamed against his legs. 

"G-Gunmar--" Strickler stopped. He licked his lips, debating.

  
Hard to think with death so near, so hard to think. His last words, he wanted them to mean something.

**"Choke on my brittle English bones, Gunmar."**

Gunmar went still. His cold eye widened and his mouth closed.

Then he opened his fist.

Strickler gasped out an audible 'oof' as he was dropped, striking the ground hard. He bit back a groan, then pushed himself up.

 _"Bed."_ He hissed, pointed to the cold, hard floor, then back at the soft pile of furs. "Bed. RIGHT THERE."

He accentuated his point with a second arm, waving his claws with a flourish. 

Gunmar didn't answer. The warlord had his palm pressed to his forehead, shoulders heaving with soft, cough-like noises. It took Strickler a moment to identify the alien sound as Gunmar's laughter. 

"You thought I was going to eat you." Gunmar drew in a breath to compose himself. The composure was immediately lost after a quick glance at Strickler's expression. 

"Tell me, Stricklander." Gunmar paused to wipe his wet mouth, "Would you eat a sandwich after you'd rutted with it?"

A numbing cold spread through Strickler's limbs as if he'd been drenched with ice water. he grabbed one of the animal skins, trying to cover himself. 

"You've threatened to do it, Gunmar. Your SON used to do the same." 

Gunmar's smile vanished.

"Do not speak of him, Impure."

"Impure. Impure." Strickler repeated, mimicking Gunmar's gravel. 

He wrapped himself in the fur blanket. Gunmar's scent was heavy on the bedding, but fear and loathing brought clarity, and the fog of his heat was fading fast. 

"I was pure once, Gunmar. I was born pure, just like Bular." 

Gunmar advanced toward him, the runes on his arm starting to glow.

"Even AFTER you changed me---" Changing his mind, Strickler rose to his feet and let the bearskin fall to the floor. He'd had his fill of shame, it was high past time he gave Gunmar a helping. 

"I served you, I devoted my life to setting you free. I could have left you to rot in the Darklands, _but I stayed loyal!_ " He jabbed a talon in Gunmar's direction, taking a step forward.  
"You robbed me of my family, my home and my birthright. You took me from my nest and turned me into a spy. And I have _been bloody good at it!"_

Strickler's rasps were quickly growing into a roar, even as Gunmar's Decimaar blade formed.

" I spent centuries tracking down the pieces of Killahead. ME. Not Dictatious, not Bular, not any other _pure_ troll! I uprooted my life each and every time the Janus Order located a fragment. I discovered Heartstone Trollmarket, I arranged for Nomura to gain access to the Arcadia Oaks Museum, and I am the one who convinced the Trollhunter to let you live! And even after that, you still---"

  
Decimaar's point came to rest beneath Strickler's chin. It's glow licked against his cheekbones like cold fire.

Color drained from the changelings face, and with it, his strength. Strickler swallowed once, then he raised his hand and grabbed the cursed blade. In a single motion, he pulled the edge to his throat.

"Even with everything I've done, you'll never see at me as an equal. I mean nothing to you. I'm not even a joke. I'm _food_."

He looked up at Gunmar, then returned his attention to Decimaar. He wasn't afraid. He was too tired to be afraid. Tired of holding his tongue, of minding his tone. If Gunmar planned on making a thrall of him, then he would speak his piece before it happened. At this point, he wasn't sure he could stop, not until he had said everything he'd been biting back. 

"You don't care about what I've sacrificed for you. _Whom_ I've sacrificed."

Strickler closed his eyes, and for a moment he imagined the scent of charred apple pie. The warmth of a cup of badly brewed coffee.

"I'm not sure you're even capable of caring. I don't understand why you chose me. You aren't my soul mate, you certainly aren't my friend. You don't know anything about me except that I'm impure. But _I know you, Gunmar._ And sooner rather than later, you're going to lose interest in whatever game it is you're playing. When that time comes, I'll end up either killing you, or you'll kill me, Ending this charade once and for all."

  
Gunmar let him finish, but when the words ended, he gave no answer.

As the changeling watched, the Warlord lowered his blade, using the point to spear something on the floor. Strickler's face twisted in confusion as Decimaar rose, his buckskin loincloth pinned to its end.

"What are you---"

Before he could finish the question, he found himself gagged, the cloth garment balled up and shoved behind his teeth. 

Gunmar gave him no chance to retaliate. In a swift, brutal movement, he grabbed his wrists and dragged him to the far side of the stone cavern. Strickler didn't make a sound as Gunmar shoved him against the rocky wall. Then, Gunmar raised his sword. Strickler turned his head away, eyes closed tight as Decimaar plunged forward.

There was the deafening shriek of blade sinking deep into stone, and the changeling found himself pinned. 

The hammering of his heart against his rib drowned out any other sensation, but as one second stretched into ten, Strickler became aware of several things.

 

The taste of leather on his tongue. His pulse rushing in his ears. His wrists, pinned to the wall above his head by Decimaar's quillion. 

And the fact that he was still alive.

"Impure or not, there isn't a troll alive who can call themselves my equal." Gunmar drew back as he spoke, "And as for your loyal service, I would think our arrangement is a more than generous reward."

 

The muffled shrieks of outrage that came from Strickler would've put a stalkling to shame.

Gunmar was still for a while as he contemplated the defiant form in front of him. The way Strickler's nimble claws flexed. The rise and fall of his willowy chest. How his heels slid against the stone as he shifted his weight. 

How he glared with those strange, impure eyes.

Eyes like the sunrise.

Gunmar's teeth glistened, a slow smirk replacing his pensive expression.

"If I hadn't changed you, you would've been a vulture troll. A warmount."

Gunmar set two fingers beneath Strickler's chin. He tried to turn his head away, but Gunmar held it firmly in place. 

A flinty claw grazed across the changelings lower lip, following the thin-set line of apatite before gliding up to trace the edge of one bone-white tusk.

The whisper of Trollstone on Changeling marble was like a sigh.

Gunmar's teeth came close once more, and Strickler began to wheeze through his gag, his irises narrowing into razor-thin slits. 

The Warlord drew closer. Then, he stooped and touched Strickler's forehead with his own heavy brow.

The Gumm-Gumm King stayed that way until the changeling's breathing steadied, then he brought his jaws close to Strickler's ear. And as he whispered, his breath was like smoke.

"Instead of a warmount, you became a Queen."

Gunmar's tongue raked a scalding path against his mate's cheek, from the base of his jawline to the tip of his ear, then down again. Then, he began to lick the underside of his jaw before craning his neck to lap at the changeling's throat, tasting his pulse. his tongue was too broad to reach inside the carvings in Strickler's chest, but the barbs that covered its surface were just thin enough to slide along the etched lines, dipping into the cracks.

  
Strickler's made a brief sound, a keen that he muffled by biting down on the gag.

 _"My Queen_ , Stricklander." 

The Troll pressed his palm against one trembling thigh, pushing against it until the changeling reluctantly opened his legs. The movement revealed that Strickler was sitting in a pool of pale lilac, droplets of fluid beaded between his legs.

  
Gunmar grinned, and the air went sour with the smell of his mouth watering.

He brought his tongue to those droplets, the greedy sound of his lapping punctuated by a few glottal assertions.

" _My_ mate."

He licked one thigh until it was polished clean, then turned his attention to the other.

"My _husband_."

Strickler's eyes glazed ever so slightly, and he shuddered, a ripple of pleasure that ran from his shoulders to his toes.

Gunmar wasn't sure if it was his tone, or the word he chose, but the changeling's crux began to flow.

The Warlord had never seen a warmer welcome. 

He wrapped a claw around each of the changelings legs, lifting his knees until they pressed against his shoulders. In this position, Strickler's hips were like an upraised bowl beneath Gunmar's dripping teeth.

Gunmar allowed himself a few seconds to savor the sights and smells of the meal in front of him. The animal stench of sex, the spoor of fear, the amber-sweet scent of living flesh. Such a perfume of flavors would drive even the gentlest troll to bloodthirst, and he was far, far from a gentle troll. 

A faint whimper came through the buckskin gag, an urgent, mewling plea.

The sound of supplication was spice to the meat. 

And so The Hungry One began to feast.

Gunmar's tongue was the size of an oven mitt, but it was hot, and yielding, and Strickler's crux welcomed every inch of it as it wormed its way inside him.

"Mmnnrgh-" The changeling writhed, muffled grunts tearing free of his throat. "Nnguh-Gnnnh-nnngh!"

The muscle rolled inside him, cupping his cervix, trapping it in Gunmar's sweltering folds before it drew out, curling. The tip danced forward and back, tickling the roof of his crux. A hair more pressure, and it was pressing up into the roots of his clit.

  
The changeling's eyes flared and rolled back in his head. The gag made it impossible for him to speak, or control his own tongue, and two rivulets of drool ran from the corners of his mouth. He pushed his legs forward, hooking them around Gunmar's neck.

Gunmar growled his encouragement. His lips vibrated against his mate, and his rough nose scraped flirtingly against Strickler's clit. He began jamming his tongue in and out of Strickler's wet entrance, stuffing him with a squirming, wriggling warmth.

  
"Ungah." Strickler mewled, raising his hips, "Ungah, puhlz."

Gunmar chuckled, clearly pleased with the sounds he was making. He drew back, just long enough to lick his lips. Then he pulled the gag out.

"Gunmar, let me go, I want-" Strickler looked up at the Warlord, then glanced down. "I want-" 

"What is it you want?" Gunmar was nearly crooning.

"I-You---"

"What's the matter, Stricklander?" Gunmar brought his face in close, close enough to kiss. "Are you feeling tongue tied?"

Strickler immediately went slack, his eyebrows set in a straight line, lips pressed together. For a moment, he stared half-lidded at Gunmar. Then, the muscles in his arms flexed, and he began lifting himself toward the Decimaar Blade.

  
"What are you doing?" 

"I'm trying to cut my own throat."

Gunmar chuckled, pulling his sword free. Decimaar vanished in wisps of blue mist.

  
Strickler rubbed his wrist, hissing as pins and needles fanned through his arm. "The next time you consider being witty, Dark Underlord, do me a favor and kill me first. It'd be a mercy." 

The Warlord smirked, pulling the changeling to his feet.

  
"I'm not going to eat you, Stricklander, but make no mistake, you taste...Hnng."

There wasn't a proper word in Trollish, not even the Gumm-Gumm dialect, which had over a thousand words for the taste of flesh.

So instead of speaking, Gunmar ran the tip of his tongue over his uneven teeth.

Strickler shivered at the sight of those fangs. He lifted his arms to his shoulders, hugging himself.

  
"Charming witticism's aside, The fact remains-" his voice quavered, and he swallowed his trepidation, giving it another try. "I appreciate that you're trying, but the fact remains, I'm still not..."

"You haven't survived this long by trusting in greater powers, Stricklander. It's true that you've served me well, but your loyalty was never mine to command. You've always had questions, plans. You believe you know the war between Trolls and the Surface better than I do. After all our time together, you still need persuading." Gunmar reached across the space between them, his fingers fitting neatly behind Strickler's neck.

The changeling tensed; expecting a fist around his throat. Instead, he was dragged forward.

A dark, rune-carved arm slid beneath his knobby knees. The crook of a barbed elbow slipped around his shoulders, and he was being lifted, as easily as a fox lifts a mouse.

Strickler choked out an undignified yap as he was swept off his feet. His arms didn't quite fit the entire way around Gunmar's neck, but he managed to hold on as the Troll carried him bride-like over to the bedfurs.

Gunmar's gaze was not gentle as he set his mate down. His eye was a ring of cold blue ice against an even colder pool of black. He couldn't be gentle, any more than a mace could be gentle, or an earthquake. It was beyond his nature.

  
But still, somehow there was warmth in Gunmar's expression, somewhere beneath his bitter depths. Heat enough for Strickler to lean forward, as if to warm himself against the dim blue flame.

Gunmar closed his eye, nostrils flaring as he drew in a breath. The Gumm-Gumm King seemed to be steadying himself for a difficult task.

For a moment, Strickler was worried. Gunmar had gone very still, and very quiet. But before he could voice his concern, Gunmar voiced something else. Something entirely different.

Strickler had only heard a noise like that once, while chasing news of the Killstone through the swamps of Southern Florida. The sound was lower than the Darklands; an ancient, primal thing that began in Gunmar's depths and roiled upward like thunder, forcing his powerful chest to expand, his runes to flare, and every one of his stone muscles to stand taut. 

The bellow did not come from his mouth. Instead, it seemed to resonate outward, a sonorous bass that filled the space between Troll and Changeling.

Infrasound. A Gumm-Gumm mating song.  A few books mentioned the ancient tribal tradition, but it's practice had been lost to the tides of war. Strickler doubted anyone alive could say they had heard one.

  
Anyone except him.

Without thinking, he reached out, letting his willow-green hand press against Gunmar's breast, his fingers splaying over a chevron-shaped vein of blue light. He crept closer on his knees, pressing his ear to Gunmar's chest.

"Once more." Strickler whispered, closing his eyes.

Night-black claws came to rest on his back, the dark arms enfolding him. Strickler tensed for a moment, but allowed himself to be held as Gunmar obliged. The sound thrummed through them both, and the changeling began to gasp very quietly.

Once the sound left them, Strickler reached down, wrapping his fingers around the head of Gunmar's rut. He started to stroke it, coaxing it back upright.

"Stricklander." Gunmar sighed his name. "You will never die in our bedchamber. I give you my word."

Strickler lifted a hand to his own mouth, plucking at his lower lip absently.

"Your oral presentation is impressive, I'll give you that. but there's always room for improvement."

Gunmar's brow furrowed, he opened his mouth to speak, but Strickler held up a finger.

"I believe that you would benefit from a parallel learning structure." 

Strickler climbed to his feet, standing on the bed. Reaching out, he grabbed one of Gunmar's horns and began to tug him toward the bedfurs.

"If you will just allow me to demonstrate."

Gunmar needed no further persuasion. At Strickler's direction, he settled onto the bed on his back, letting out a gruff sound of approval as Strickler swung his legs up, straddling his chest as if to mount a horse. The trolls cock might've been too big to manage, but at this angle, it was the perfect length for the changeling to take into his mouth.

Gunmar's eyebrows rose as Strickler crammed the head of his rut into one cheek, using his talons to stroke what he couldn't fit into his mouth. The Warlord opened his mouth to say something, but Strickler pressed his crux over his lips, muffling any witty comments.

The troll smirked, giving the slit a lick. He cupped the changeling's bony ass in his palm, giving the marble-like stone a squeeze.

Strickler paused in his sucking, shooting Gunmar a look over his shoulder.

"Do you mind?" The changling growled, indignant. 

"I don't. Small haunches are fine." Gunmar smirked, pressing his thumbs deeper into the rounded stone. "Even here, you still smell like soap."

"Gunmar," Strickler could feel his cheeks being pried apart. "I'm going to stop you right there. Whatever you're thinking---"

"It looks like a pixie ring."

"Be that as it may---" Strickler lifted one finger, the way he sometimes did before a lecture. The words cut off into a yelp as Gunmar's tongue pushed into his ass.

"No!" He squirmed, reaching back to swat at the Gumm-Gumm King. "None of that! Absolutely none!"

"Either mine goes into yours, or yours goes into mine. The choice is yours."

Strickler paused, blinking once.

"Fair enough." He returned his attention to the cock in front of him. "Carry on, then."

Strickler ran his tongue around the tapered top of Gunmar's cock, turning his head to stroke it against the inside of his mouth. From this position, he had a clear view of just how alien Gunmar's anatomy was. He sucked absently on the rut, considering. There was no telling when he'd get a better chance to examine the Warlord's biology.

  
He slid his hands down Gunmar's belly, touching his inner thighs. Gunmar's groin was smooth, his gronk-nuks protected beneath his powerful stone hide. His cock sprouted upward from a glowing slit, his preputial sheath indistinguishable from his decorative runes. Strickler relaxed his throat, gently rocking his head forward and back. Deep throating was much more comfortable at his own pace, and he could feel his mind getting murky once more.

Carefully, he pressed his fingers into Gunmar's sheath, feeling around the base of his rut. The inside of his slit was as soft as gypsum, and Strickler probed deeper. Gently, he ran his fingertips against the cable-like retractor muscle, stroking in time with Gunmar's licks.

Gunmar paused, then he copied the changeling's movements with his mouth. The Warlord seemed to know exactly what to do with his tongue. The strokes were short and prodding, the warmth of his mouth coaxing the tight ring to yield, to let his tongue spread it open.

  
Strickler's fingers were an exotic intrusion as they slithered into his sheath. It had never occurred to Gunmar that his opening could be used for pleasure, but those clever hands seemed to know just where to caress, how to fondle those unknown places inside him. Each brush of his claws made his Gronk-nuks contract, and the wetness of throat around the crown of his rut was a sweet torture. The middle portion of his member lay exposed to the cold air, while the bottom and top smoldered under the changelings attention.

  
Strickler bit his lower lip after tugging the head out of his mouth. Panting, he began pushing back against Gunmar's tongue. "You're putting it in so deep." He rested his cheek against the rut, rubbing the head. "Keep twisting it, yes, just like that. "

The tongue began to plunge in and out, stretching and filling his guts with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. Strickler's shoulders hunched, and without thinking he bit down on the head of Gunmar's cock to muffle his moans.

Gunmar erupted, his hips rising as heavy ropes of spend burst from his rut. 

"Oh, yes ohyesohyesssthatstheticket. " Strickler crooned encouragement as scalding droplets spattered against his face and back. He kissed along the underside as Gunmar groaned the changelings name.

Sharp teeth had left pinprick marks in Gunmar's stone, and Strickler cooed over them, licking the wounds clean. 

"If you didn't look the way you do right now," Gunmar wheezed, "I would break you in half for that."

Strickler turned to face Gunmar. Spend fell from his horns and dripped down his chin. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, considering the heavy strands webbed between his fingers. Then, he locked eyes with Gunmar, giving him his haughtiest expression. 

"Well, if that's the case, then as your Queen; I advise that you clean me up-" He sucked his fingers, shivering at the taste. Gunmar's smell was all over him now, and he was beginning to sink back into that blissful fog. "-and then carefully break me in half."

 

 

 

Twelve inches.

"Remember, Gunmar, I said 'carefully'

It helped that he was holding his lips apart and Gunmar's hands at his waist allowed him to control the pace, but the fact remained that his was closer to a human's shape than a trolls, and the rut  that was pushing its way inside of him was no where near human.

Fifteen.

Eighteen.

"It's too tight." Strickler hissed through clenched teeth. He tried short, patterned huffs to ease the pain, but all that accomplished was making him light-headed. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he leaned back to rest against Gunmar's chest.

"You're nearly there, Stricklander." The Warlord almost sounded encouraging.

 _"I'm trying."_ He snarled in reply, covering his face with both hands. He gave his hips a tentative wiggle.

20 inches.

  
Strickler felt himself slip down, and for a brief second, he thought he'd be able to take it. Then the discomfort bloomed into a fierce, radiating pain, as if he were being split in two with a meat hammer.

  
"AH, FUCK! I can't! Gunmar---" 

A sudden wave of nausea swept over him, and Strickler noticed the edges of his vision were beginning to go dark.

What Strickler intended on saying was, _"Gunmar, I think that I am going to faint."_

What came out of him was something like,

  
"Gunmar, I thuaaaaugh..."

His head rolled back, and the rest of him followed, slumping against his mate's chest. 

Through the a veil of static, he could see Gunmar's left arm moving toward him, the jagged runes glowing brighter than he'd ever seen them. Gunmar's claws were smoldering with blue light, and as Strickler watched, those fingers came to rest between his legs.

  
It would be disingenuous for Strickler to say say having Heartstone energy fed directly into his clitoris felt like a vibrator. There WERE some similarities to the sensation of a personal massager, but only so much as there were similarities between an Itachi wand and a cattle prod.

  
His tusks clattered together so hard he thought they'd crack, his irises disappearing into the back of his head until his eyes were shining slits of yellow. His entire body began to thrum, the pain decimated under a merciless blastwave of orgasm.

  
And it _would not stop_.

There was no cooldown, no relenting, each time he thought he'd reached his crest the wave just kept rising. 

"GUNMAR!" He screamed, grasping at the Warlord's neck for purchase. He could feel his claws being ground down against the trolls hide but he couldn't stop because it wouldn't stop and he could only ride it out as climax after climax washed over him. 

Gunmar pulled his claw away, and Strickler fell over, held up only by the hand at his waist and the rut completely buried in his crux.

"Ah, Augh...Ngh..." Whimpers, Grunts, No words. Perhaps there would never be words from the changeling again. Strickler stared straight ahead, the tip of his tongue hanging from his mouth as Gunmar nuzzled him.

  
"Didn't I say there was enough troll in you?" The warlord purred. He held him in place, putting one hand over Strickler's belly.

Gunmar could feel his rut through Strickler's skin, the organ curled inside him. It twitched and slithered as it coiled around his cervix. 

Not a comfortable fit for either of them, but a fit nonetheless.

"For a male with your shape, your Gronk-nuks are right..." Gunmar ran his claw down Strickler's chest, down his slightly protruding stomach, beneath his navel...

To the side and slightly above his womb.

Some life came back to the changeling when Gunmar flooded the sex gland with Heartstone. His spine went straight and he threw his head back, legs fully extended as if he'd been struck by lightning.

It seemed as though Strickler wanted to say something, but the only sounds that wrenched from his through were a series of agonized shrieks. There was only so many times a body could be forced to climax before it started to break. A jet of liquid squirted from between his legs, and that was signal enough for Gunmar to reach his third peak.

The Warlord's howl rose to match his mate's cry. Father Instinct spoke louder than common sense, and Gunmar jammed the changeling down further, defying the thought that even a drop of his seed would be allowed to escape. He clamped his teeth down onto the changeling's shoulder; his runes shining as he was wracked with a climax that rattled him down to his bones.

Strickler watched Gunmar's seed pour into him with detached fascination. It was disconcerting to see his stomach distending, to see himself swell as if he were five months into carrying a whelp. At the same time, there was something sinfully indulgent in watching as heavy sperm flooded his womb, something that filled him with a primal satisfaction. 

Gunmar was heaving like an exhausted warhorse, his jaws frothing as he rested his chin against Strickler's shoulder.

Strickler winced as the rut slipped free, but the sting was brief; soothed away quickly by the warmth of the spend that splashed onto his thighs. He took a moment to gather himself, then reaching up, he brushed some of the foam away from Gunmar's lips.

With a quiet gasp, the Gumm-Gumm king fell back onto the bedfurs.

"My turn again, your Dark Excellence?" Strickler asked, pressing a quick kiss to the scar beneath Gunmar's eye socket. 

Gunmar had closed his eyes. His sight flickered back to life at Strickler's words.

"What?"

Strickler slid off the bed and pressed two hands to his lower back, cracking it with a grunt as he stood straight 

"I'll give you an A for effort, but the lesson isn't over yet. You still have a lot to learn about Changelings. We'll start with Biology.."

He slid his claws over his swollen belly, rubbing absently. "The inside of a crux is line with lymph and blood vessels, both of which are part of the immune system. The body sees sperm cells as invaders. As soon as these invaders are detected, then white blood cells are dispatched to attack the male cells and chemically convert them into energy-giving nutrients. When it comes to my immune system-"

He shifted from Troll to Human, fully clothed, and as svelte as he'd ever been. 

"-I have never been sick a day in my life. It simply must be that hybrid immunity." Strickler gave his now-trim belly a pat for emphasis. "Couple those nutrients with your generous gift of Heartstone energy and I feel absolutely _inspired._ There are so many things to teach you! Consider it an accelerated learning program. We do only have three months." 

He straightened his turtle-neck before leaning forward to rub at Gunmar's inner legs. The Warlords rut had gone limp and began to retreat back into his body, but Strickler caught the head in his fingers before it could escape.

  
"We'll start with part two of the _Kama Sutra_ , chapters six and seven, after that, We'll move on to examining the underlying themes of _Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure,_ by the peerless John Cleeland." 

Strickler pressed his tongue into the hole at the head, and once more the organ began to stiffen. Even half-erect, it was easy for the changeling to hide his growing smirk behind Gunmar's cock.

"Of course, if you don't feel like expanding upon our lesson plan, you could say that you yield, and we'll call it my win. Chalk it up to learning experience."

  
The Gumm-Gumm king stared at him for a moment before labourously pushing himself up on his elbows.

"A Warlord never yields, Impure." Gunmar spat, but he was beginning to wheeze, and he didn't sound entirely convinced, "Are you certain you can handle another mounting?"

  
Strickler smiled, climbing onto Gunmar's lap and shifting back to his Troll form.

"That's the thing about being married to a teacher, Gunmar."

Strickler lowered his ass, letting out a contented sight as he guided Gunmar back in.

"I'm willing to do this over and over and over again until you get it right."

 

                                                                                                   ~The  End~


End file.
